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6.20.200620/14
I suppose there are worse times than the beginning of Summer to realize the fans in your room are dead. I have three to use in various combinations as needed: two window units that suck air in or pump it back out again and a smaller, more portable fan that was the one good thing to come out of a week of baby-sitting the sort of country mouse house guest Time Out New York writes charming features about. They were great last Summer, ensuring that no matter how hot the rest of the apartment got my room stayed ten degrees cooler or better. Perfect for staying in to drink wine all day and watch movies on the laptop when the Girl was in town, perfect for staying in trying to write when she wasn't and it was too damn hot to do anything else.
But as of last night, one of them screams like something from The Dark Crystal perched on the end of my bed when you turn it on while another one doesn't work at all. All three of them are caked in dust I can't quite clean out from months without use that, having watched both seasons of House in rapid succession, I'm now convinced will have me shooting blood out every available orifice while Hugh Laurie berates me in no time. I have overestimated the life cycle of fans, it seems, and am now left with nothing but dust-covered plastic and an ever-rising room temperature. 02.04 03.04 04.04 05.04 06.04 07.04 08.04 10.04 11.04 12.04 01.05 02.05 03.05 04.05 05.05 06.05 07.05 08.05 10.05 11.05 12.05 01.06 02.06 03.06 04.06 06.06 07.06 08.06 |
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